


Loose Thistles

by whatacartouchebag



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27424459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: Something that seemed all too normal for his little nook within the forest.Red eyes narrowed at the thought.No, something was different, and it brought a faint whisper of unease to his stomach.~~~A Witch Qrow AU
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wes_the_writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wes_the_writer/gifts).



> Breath, should I take a deep?  
> Faith, should I take the leap?  
> Taste, what a bittersweet...
> 
> ~Face My Fears, Utada Hikaru
> 
> Inspired by the wonderful works of Wes, and their incredible Witch Qrow, thought I'd give a shot at writing these goobers and see where the road takes me. A first meeting of sorts, brought about almost entirely by [this wonderful piece](https://yuli-the-bi.tumblr.com/post/630525910105374720/the-fateful-encounter-of-a-witch-and-a-mercenary).
> 
> Still not too sure how long this series will be, but I have Some Ideas for future updates.
> 
> Once again, in case you missed the tags, **this chapter contains depictions of fantasy based injuries and blood**.

The first thing that alerted keen senses was the vague sense that something had been missed or misplaced. That whisper in the back of the mind that comes only when he knew he'd moved something earlier, only to find it had fallen from its perch by unseen forces, or been spirited away by another one of those blasted sprites.

But with a delicate pluck of a spider's web in in his mind, he'd felt it. Something had brushed past a ward deep with the forest. Something unknown to the trees.

Dark brows furrowed as Qrow rose to his feet from within his garden, brushing the dirt from knees and staring intently at the place where gnarled forest met well-worn path.

For a long moment, the only shimmer of movement was the breeze as it whispered through the leaves, and the only sound that reached his ears were the birds, still delicately singing in the distance.

Something that seemed all too normal for his little nook within the forest.

Red eyes narrowed at the thought.

No, something was different, and it brought a faint whisper of unease to his stomach.

With a sigh upon his tongue, he reached for the pouch at his hip, ensuring it was secure, as was the blade upon his other. He knew the woods were about as free from man as they came, but it still didn't stop anything else from wandering lost within their boughs.

It still didn't stop him from being cautious.

He walked past towering corn stalks to the edge of the garden, and a small blue wren chittered softly at him as he passed. Red eyes glanced up at it, not breaking his stride, and the faint smile found his lips as it flitted down to settle upon an offered finger.

“I'll be back within the hour,” he told it simply. “Tell the others.”

The tiny bird seemed offended at the gentle orders, if the sudden spurt of noise that clattered from it was anything to go by, and the soft breath of amusement fell from the man.

“Don't be rude,” he replied, and lightly bounced his hand to dislodge the little thing, watching as it took off back to the garden to take out it's frustrations on the cabbage moths.

The faint brush of a smile stayed for only a handful of time, and Qrow turned his attention back to the woods and the shadows that ran deep the further he gazed. It wasn't everyday something tried to sneak into his forest, but when it did, it was usually trouble.

Something easily dispatched, and more often than not a minor nuisance, but trouble nonetheless.

Booted feet fell silent along the path, and he placed trust in his senses to tell him the way. More than once, he felt the calming presence of creatures that dwelt within the woods; their gaze lingering cautiously on their protector as he passed.

Yet the closer he found himself to the western border of the forest, the deeper that stillness seemed to whisper about him like so much gentle rainfall. Red eyes narrowed faintly, as he realised that even the birds had quieted in their faint chittering; something putting them on edge that even he couldn't decipher yet.

A hand brushed quietly at dense foliage, and he parted it enough to see where the path broke off into deeper, darker woodland. It was something further in, and the quiet swathed him as he stepped out, sunlight straining to break through in faint dapples.

Fingers reached for the handle of a dagger in the same moment the smell hit his senses, and red eyes widened as his entire body stilled.

Blood.

Something in his forest was dying.

Leaving his blade be, he drew a hand up before him, and with a delicate flourish of fingers, brought a small flame of white light into being, no larger than his fist. With a gentle bounce, it skittered off into the canopy like a falcon aloft. A simple sentinel, but a necessary one now that he knew what awaited him.

It was only then that he reached for his dagger, lips brushing the hilt in simple blessings of protection and healing should the worst occur, and he once more made his way further through the undergrowth.

A small fawn glanced up at him as he approached, and it lowed it's head in submission as the man drew closer, laying itself to the ground on shaky legs and not knowing what else to do. Qrow paused at it's side, knowing his quarry lay just beyond the next copse of trees, and he trailed soothing fingers through short fur.

Fear, the creature told him. Fear. Smell. Lost.

Red eyes narrowed as Qrow rose to a crouch, and crept silently closer to his target, weapon raised in ready strike as he parted the last of the foliage.

And drew himself to a complete stop for the second time in a matter of minutes.

The source of his – and all the creatures of the forest – unease, lay at the base of a towering dogwood, its boughs bent low and all but cradling about where it had slumped.

“A human...” the breath slipped from him, and Qrow nearly sighed in exasperation as he stood, losing all pretence of cautiousness. Red eyes lingered on the man as he stepped out from under the cover of the undergrowth, and the sigh fell heavily from him.

Of course it would be one of them spooking the creatures of his forest.

Fingers curled tight about his dagger, and the leather creaked in protest.

Of course.

Red eyes skirted across his form. A warrior of some sorts, from the looks of him; and combat the reason for his untimely demise, it would seem. Qrow followed the ragged wound that lay on his shoulder, and brows furrowed as he took stock of the blood that had alerted his senses and that of the creatures nearby.

Some plains animal that had savaged him, most likely.

With as much as he'd lost, it was no wonder he only made it as far as he did, and Qrow sheathed his dagger once more.

Still... he couldn't leave him here to attract any more of his kind, nor would he leave him somewhere without the proper rights. Human or not, Qrow still carried some base form of morals to him, and he did his best to see everything returned to the earth whence it came. He'd simply carry him somewhere suitable, somewhere away from loose foliage, for the immolation spell to take ahold of him. Let his ashes feed the world beneath him once more, as all things did.

He walked to the fallen man, crouching alongside him and grabbing at the better shoulder of the two.

The startle was immediate, and the stranger drew a sharp breath of surprise, snapping eyes open wide and darting a hand up to Qrow's wrist, blood smearing where skin met. Red eyes widened fiercely, and Qrow jerked his hand back as if he'd been scalded, dagger already grasped tight within fingers as he shot to his feet and out of range of the human.

The bastard _wasn't_ dead!

Those widened eyes stared up at Qrow for barely a heartbeat longer before they unfocused, darkness claiming him once more, and he slumped lax against the tree with nary a groan.

Red eyes could only blink at him in shock, waiting this human out and watching to see if it was a trick of some sort. They were good at that; slippery at best and deceitful at worst.

Yet all that slipped from the man was his breathing, faint, and shallow, and dark brows remained furrowed. Gods above and below, but his heart was hammering in his chest, and he had to force himself to release the vice like grip about his dagger, and allow his own breath to thread from him.

What had caused this human to wander so far from the plains? Surely he knew that whatever creature pursued him out there would follow; spooked as the animals of the forest were, the predators of the plains had no qualms about taking down their prey within the boughs of the forest.

Red eyes focused upon his wound once more, and as lips pressed into a thin line, he realised that it was no bite at all, but the remains of a wound inflicted by his own kind.

The worst predators of all, came the bitter hiss of his mind.

His eyes ducked to the trail of blood leading away from the man, and sure enough, some yards away where the boldest of those spatters lay upon the dirt, was the snapped remains of an arrow; the shaft that held the fletching broken upon the ground, yet the arrowhead itself remained unseen. Qrow could only release a low exhale at the sight; he knew it was no small feat to remove one without damage. It was another thing entirely to do so with no assistance whatsoever.

This human had partially succeeded at both, it seemed, as he realised what a missing arrowhead would mean.

Qrow glanced down at where he'd been grabbed, and that smear of blood upon skin greeted him. His nose wrinkled at it, and he knew he'd need a wash. He raised it to his nose, and with a simple sniff, lowered it in disdain. Gods below, but he disliked it when-

The pause struck him, and eyes darted to his hand once more in faint recognition.

No, that was...

Red eyes remained wide as he moved, crouching next to the man and placing a hand atop that injured shoulder, still wary for another surprise yet knowing he had to act quickly. Without waiting for a reaction, he drew the tip of his dagger to the edge of the man's wound, letting a bead of lifeblood gather at its tip.

Within a heartbeat, it sputtered and hissed as the wards upon the blade sang to life, fighting off what coursed through the man's system, as green energies traced simple symbols of healing to the tip, fighting to save what was about to be lost.

Fighting to do what mere magic could not hope to do alone.

Red eyes narrowed and he stood once more, flicking his blade clean. It was a poison he hadn't seen in years, and this human had managed to stagger into the depths of his forest, battling its effects for hours – perhaps the better part of a day – before damn near succumbing to it entirely.

Lucky bastard indeed.

He sheathed the dagger slowly, keeping his eyes on the unconscious man as choices weighed and balanced themselves within his mind as if they were mere weights upon a scale. On one hand, he was a human, hunted by his own kind for reasons he cared little for. He'd entered his forest, and it damn near cost him his life.

It would be all too easy to finish the job and send a further message to those that would stray from their own borders.

And yet...

The breath threaded from him slowly, and he swallowed through a suddenly tight throat.

A mere human had staggered into his forest by pursuers unknown, bearing a poison the likes of which he hadn't seen in years; hunted and hounded to retreat all the way onto death's doorstep.

He wanted – no, _needed –_ answers, and the only way to gain them was to save his life.

To do so would mean...

Stillness surrounded him as the answer lay heavy upon his tongue, and he almost missed the faint steps of the little fawn that cautiously approached him, still sensing something was amiss, but knowing safety lay in their protector. As it's faint little bleat, Qrow glanced down at it in light startle.

He curled his bloodied wrist further up to his chest, not wanting to distress the little thing further, and he knelt alongside it. It sniffed warily at his pants for a moment, and he smiled faintly at it.

He hated seeing things in pain, no matter what they were, after all.

“Head home, little one,” he spoke gently to it. “You don't want to be here for this.”

It gazed up at him, those large eyes taking it something unseen, as it gave a few more tentative sniffs of the air. Then, on rickety legs, it turned and teetered slowly off into dense foliage, leaving red eyes to follow it's path and sigh in vague relief.

He turned back to his quarry, taking in his slumped form once more, and knew what had to be done. Holding his hand out before him, light spiralled out from fingertips, arcing out in swiftly growing concentric circles, that suddenly spliced and splintered with all manner of runes engraved into the very air itself.

In a flurry, the little flame of light from before tore down from the heavens, nestling itself above the circle at Qrow's fingertips, and he inclined his head to it almost respectfully.

“Find me aid. Enough to bring him-” Hesitation halted his words, and he _almost_ bit off the sigh that breathed out the last of them. Gods, but he had little choice. “...home.”

There was a faint pulse from the little light, and it took swiftly to the canopy once more, leaves blustering lightly as it passed. Fingers curled upon themselves and the circle faded to nothingness as he stood. Very well. Now all he needed was enough from the woods about him. Enough to stave the poison and enough for this human to survive the journey.

Brows furrowed as fingers dipped into a pouch, finding most of what he needed. Dried angelica, a nub of ginger root, a handful of elderberries, and a slice of ginseng would be enough to start. Red eyes glanced about the area, knowing he'd seen a familiar splash of pink about him, and-

Sure enough, a scraggly patch of carnations grew in what sunlight they could find, and he headed towards it. Lips moved in a silent whisper of permission as he knelt, fingers delicately cradling the flower head. With a final breath upon petals, it shrivelled within fingers suddenly, and he plucked it easily from a stem.

He knew of a willow along the path to home, and a stem to bind it all together would be the final ingredient.

But, for now, it would be enough.

Fingers dipped into his pouch once more, extracting what he needed and keeping it contained within a palm. He clasped his other hand atop it, and a brief burst of light flashed between them, reducing it all to dust within his embrace.

The easy part now over and done with.

Now all that remained was saving this human's life.

Qrow knelt before the man, and with fingertips as the brush for the dust held within his palm, circled the wound delicately. There were various nicks and slashes that finally caught his eye, now that he was properly looking at him, and he had to wonder what kind of mess this human had brought him.

He laid his hand atop his wounded shoulder, gripping tight, and with the remainder of his reagents painted upon his palm, pressed it directly to that deep wound.

The effect was like a rolling wave, and he felt the man almost shudder and pull away from the touch as he fought his way out of slumber at the sudden rush of pain. Brows pinched as the gasp dragged across a tongue, and he saw them once more as the stranger finally stared back at him.

Eyes of the clearest green, as bright and as gentle as newfound buds upon an oak, and Qrow damn near found himself lost to their depths for a handful of heartbeats. Pain clouded those eyes, and he clenched them shut once more, breaking him free from his reverie, and a shaky hand reached for Qrow's wrist once more, wanting to struggle and break free from the stranger that was attacking him.

“Calm down,” came the softly placating words that did nothing to help. “I need to find the cause of this injury.”

He had a notion, and shoulders almost bunched responsively at it. Given his circumstances, he was sure the stranger had an idea, too.

There was a beat of time, and those breaths came shallow in his ear. He knew panic would only lessen what time he had left in this world with that poison coursing through him, but there was little option. He pressed his palm further against the wound, and the muffled cry cantered past clenched teeth; Qrow feeling a hand fist into his shirt.

He was not fond of pain himself, and having to inflict it upon others, even to heal, was always a wicked thing. Red eyes flicked away briefly from that face so constricted with pain, and for a breath of time, hesitation settled within his stomach.

Still, he was not a man without _any_ scrap of mercy.

“Don't... hate me for this.”

And it was all the warning he gave, as there was a brief flare of light under his palm and against flesh, and the man suddenly arched against the press of that hand; living fire suddenly shooting through him in scalding waves. For a snatch of time it wrenched all breath from him, and fingers clutched at this healer tight enough to claw deeply, as all he could feel was searing pain, _pain_.

It felt as though his very veins were dipped in a forgemaster's kiln, and the cry loosed from him unbidden. Qrow nearly growled under his breath and sent a fervent request that his pursuers weren't still around to hear it as he held him firmly in place.

He could feel the sliver of metal moving within flesh, and he damn well  _knew_ he'd been right.

The man curled his fingers into skin and cloth with a strength that belied the state he was in, and Qrow was almost surprised he still had it within himself to fight his attempts at healing him.

Red eyes closed tightly, forcing himself to block out the writhing and the muffled sounds of pain that slipped from the man as he felt his quarry shift once more. No doubt the stranger did, too, but in his state, all he could do was react blindly to the pain that lanced through him.

Qrow drew his bottom lip between teeth in concentration, and from where his hand met that awful wound, those same blinding circles began to glimmer and spiral into existence about his fingertips. He felt the broken arrowhead shift with his power, and with the reagents in place to help seal and salve, called the fractured piece to him as easily as whistling into the sky.

The metal flicked into his palm and he snatched his hand away, wrapping fingers tightly about it. It hissed and sputtered against his skin, and he let out a sharp exhale at the burn, dropping it quickly to the ground.

Gods, but that definitely explained that, he mused, staring at the jagged remains of it.

“... don't-”

The gasp of a word bled across a tongue, and Qrow met that sliver of an emerald gaze once more, clouded in a haze of pain as perspiration beaded across a forehead. At his chest, Qrow felt fingers weakly fist into his shirt front, something that seemed so desperate as the stranger forced his words into existence.

“... don't touch... the...”

Qrow pressed lips into a thin line, and he placed his palm across his wound once more. “Poisoned, I know. It's out of you now,” he told him gently, something a little less blunt now that he didn't have to hold him still. “We still need to get the rest of it out of your system.”

He paused for a moment, focusing on how shallow that breathing truly was.

“This will hurt, but less so than before.”

Those green eyes watched him for a foggy moment, lips almost parting to voice their question when blazing fire tore through his shoulder once more. The stranger clenched his jaw as the muffled cry slipped across his tongue as he felt something burn from within.

Fingers clenched further about Qrow's wrist, and he almost winced at their grip. He almost wanted to swat at the human and tell him to stop distracting him from the completion of the spell, but it was precious time he couldn't afford to lose.

They both just had to push through it before the poison finished the job it began.

Green eyes slipped from view as they screwed shut, and the man arched against his touch, wanting to struggle against his hold. Qrow kept his palm pressed tight against that wound as his other hand drew away from the curve of the stranger's shoulder, clutching those fingers.

“Easy now. It's almost done,” he spoke to him, gently as he could muster given the circumstances. “I just need you to relax a little to help me out here,” came the hurried addition, and to the man's credit, felt the way those fingers loosened their hold upon him ever so slightly.

It was enough to let him know he'd been heard, and hopefully enough to help him finish what he'd begun.

Fire tore through the man's senses, and try as he might, there was no way to completely stave off the way it decimated everything in its wake. He knew this healer was trying to help him, that much was now startlingly obvious, but the salve he was using simply stung like a _bitch._

He'd known enough healers in his time to know that some concoctions and potions were simply that – playful swindlers of coin and peddlers of lies.

This though...

_This_ felt as real as the fabric he clung to, nails trying not to dig too tightly through it.

This... felt like it was tearing through his veins like lightning and flushing him through with living fire, scorching him free from the haze that clutched at him. His breath seized in his chest as he felt it hammer at his heart, and lips parted in a wordless snatch of stolen breath.

Qrow's brows furrowed sharply as he chased the last of that horrid poison within the man's skin, willing it to still as light seeped from between his fingers. Red eyes closed, forcing himself to concentrate as he found the final skerrick of it, and with a sudden snap and sputtering of that light, the man stiffened against him; fingertips curling sharp enough to score across Qrow's chest and wrench the soft hiss from him.

Whipping no-longer bloodied hands back from a sealed wound and shoulder – all traces of spilt lifeblood burned from their skin in the wake of Qrow's spell – the man breathed deep in heaving gulps like a drowning man gasping in the sweetest air he'd ever tasted. Skin that was once sallowed with sickness suddenly brightening in the wake of that horrid poison burnt free from his system.

Qrow kept a careful eye on him, hands still held well away from him, as he watched the stranger suck in breath after laboured breath, as if remembering how and suddenly desperate for too much at once.

The man felt weak from the rush of it all. As if the very air he breathed was more than he could handle, and green eyes slivered open in a slow haze. Fingertips loosened from where they clutched at fabric, and with an almost drunken thwap, fell heavily against his own torn clothing where there should have been a wound.

In his state, he pawed at it in confusion, not quite grasping why skin was healed. There should have been something horrendous under his fingers, and yet he found only scarring. No sign of flesh marred, nor bloodied trauma or-

Brunet brows raised weakly in as much surprise as he could muster as lungs still burned for a different reason, unused as they were to the suddenly richer air.

“Oh...” he realised belatedly. The healer had done his job.

He was... gods above, but he was going to _live._

He felt the dizzying haze of relief washing over him, body glad to be free of the fire that tore through him ferociously, and rapidly dragging him into the blissful recovery of sleep.

With fingers still caught in torn clothing, those green eyes glanced back up at the healer before him. He really... should say his thanks before he slipped under again, he knew. But his breathing felt heavy and ragged, his senses dull and faltering, and all he could see were eyes so brilliantly red that rubies were mere pennies in comparison.

His brow furrowed lightly, caught in this healer's strangely pensive expression, and darkness tugged at his senses.

Some part of him – some small, dwindling part of his consciousness – caught the faint glint of gold and brilliant green at the healer's neck, and embroidered hems so delicate it made tired eyes hurt.

He knew... those patterns.

He knew.

He had known it by the way his very skin had felt on fire from what this healer had done to save him. From the way the scent of dried herbs and reagents upon skin suddenly seemed so distinct in his memory.

The way that none of his pursuers had dared followed him into the forest, knowing apparently far more than he.

It brought him a handful of heartbeats worth of pause, as the block clattered firmly into place in his mind.

His healer was a witch.

He was in more trouble than he could ever hope to bargain for.

“... oh.”

And it was all he could muster green eyes slivered shut once more, and his head fell heavily back against the roots of the dogwood tree, limbs dropping to his sides as unconsciousness claimed him thoroughly.

For a snatch of time, Qrow was caught, almost as if he was surprised by the stranger's sudden collapse and half wondering if he'd return to the waking world as quick as the first time. With fingers still held aloft, he felt the breath sigh from him, relief of his own sort tracing through him as thin as a spider's web.

Normally he held no hesitations about healing a human – he was a peddler of concoctions and potions when he needed the coin, after all.

Normally he would stay far from their prying eyes and equally prying questions; bothersome things that they _both_ were.

Normally he would have left such a creature to the fate of his own kind, considering how the stranger had wound up in his forest to begin with.

Normally he would be the one to personally chase and scatter any who dared to step forth into his forest in the first place.

Normally...

Fingers curled lightly upon themselves as they lowered to his sides, still feeling the phantom slick of the man's blood upon his own skin, and dark brows furrowed further. Shoulders relaxed as he watched the slumbering stranger's form, so free from pain and the wrath of that awful poison.

But now he wanted answers.

Now... he was curious. And he knew it was a dangerous place for him to dwell, especially where humans were concerned.

Qrow sat back heavily on the forest floor, and he sighed wearily as he felt exhaustion nip at the corners of his mind. A hand reached up, fingers spreading across his face and covering his eyes. It wasn't that such simple spellwork had taken it out of him. Quite the opposite in fact; he felt more alive than ever when he was connected to the earth and air about him.

No, his weariness came from the notion that he'd broached something that was potentially going to return to bite him later on. Something he was meticulously careful about at the best of times, but gods above and below if the first inkling of that poison hadn't torn through his memories like lightning and struck true at some long forgotten fear in his stomach.

He needed answers from this human, and to get them, he needed simply save his life.

It was a decision made in a heartbeat, and from which there was no backing down, he knew.

That hand settled across his mouth, and he glanced at the man's slumbering form. Without the mask of pain that wracked his body, he looked merely tired; as if he'd slipped into a deep and exhaustive sleep. It was almost impossible to tell what had brought him swiftly into the embrace of darkness.

Red eyes flicked to the glint of jagged metal at his side, and he resisted the urge to touch it and turn it over in his fingers once more. He knew the burn of that poison upon skin. Knew its acrid scent when pure. Knew intimately what it was capable of.

And somehow this human had brought it back into his life, and left him fighting for his own at Qrow's feet. The sigh filtered from him. This stranger was lucky his wards had alerted him when they did; any longer without aid and he might not have made it.

There was a guttural exhale next to him, and red eyes turned to meet those of a large stag that had silently approached him. The gentle smile found the witch's lips, and he stood, brushing himself down and keeping his hands where the creature could see them.

“Thank you for coming,” he told the beast, and it stretched it's head towards him, sniffing the air about him. Fingers found short fur, scratching lightly under a jaw and up to the base of those impressive antlers; the stag leaning in to the pleasing touch and drawing the soft breath of a laugh from the man.

“I... need some help,” Qrow began softly. Those fingers slowed to a stop, and red eyes glanced back to the slumbering man, dark brows furrowing at the sight of him once more. No, he'd made his decision. He'd cast his lot.

The sigh touched his tongue, and his expression softened as he watched him. Peacefully breathing, as his body began to relax within the welcoming and healing embrace of slumber. A world apart from the man that had clutched at him so tight it almost hurt. Qrow was going to need to tend to his own injury later on, considering how hard the man had clenched fingers into skin.

His physical tenacity matched that of his mental fortitude, that much was certain.

For a warrior, he was more than able bodied, and once fully healed, would be more than capable of paying his dues to Qrow. The only question remained of how. If he were lucky, the lingering effects of the poison would only affect him for perhaps another week; his physical strength would return to him in time, and there were enough menial tasks needing completion at this time of year.

Dark brows rose as an idea struck him. Something as horrendous as it was lowly. The thistles were due for harvest soon, and much as he appreciated the coin they brought him, the toil on his hands were another matter entirely.

An extra pair to help would make it slightly more bearable. Perhaps this stranger was even good at making conversation, which would make it  _entirely_ more bearable if he could escape from the incessant nattering and complaints from that fluttering companion of his.

The stag pushed into his hand insistently, and Qrow realised he'd allowed his thoughts to wander. Right. He could work out the details of payment later. Fingers scratched gently along short fur as he stepped to the stag's side, and he gave a gentle pat to a shoulder.

The beast gave a low sound as legs began to lower it's impressive bulk to the ground, neatly folding under itself as Qrow stepped over to the man. Kneeling before him once more, he placed a hand to his now healed shoulder, as fingers settled gently across his brow. There came a brief warming light where skin met, as the simple spell encouraged the man to stay well within the embrace of slumber.

It wouldn't do to have him waking up and discovering the location of his home. Nor would the feeling of being moved be all that pleasant until he'd healed further.

Drawing his fingers away, he slung the man's arm about his own shoulders, keeping him firmly against his side as he hefted his weight up. For a moment, Qrow was damn surprised at how heavy he was, and his footing nearly came undone beneath him. It took a little bit of careful pacing, but he managed to lay the man gently across the back of the waiting stag.

At the dead weight of the man, the creature gave a low grumble, ears flicked back and almost turning it's head to snort it's displeasure at the witch. Qrow gave an apologetic rub of fingers through short fur, smiling at the light grousing, and kept his hands steadily upon the stranger as the stag carefully stood once more.

Once upright, red eyes cast over the form draped across the creature's back, ensuring he wasn't about to slip off. For all intents and purposes, he looked like he'd merely fallen asleep upon his steed of unusual choice, and it brought the faintly amused smile to Qrow's lips.

He seemed to catch himself, knowing there was still a short journey to make, and he glanced back at the stag. With one steadying hand still upon the stranger, he gave a gentle pat to fur.

“Alright. Homewards,” he told the beast simply. There came a snort at his words, and a head gave a brief shake; antlers flicking almost dangerously in appearance if Qrow weren't used to a certain someone's grumblings at the best of times.

The soft breath of a laugh slipped from him, and he gave an encouraging scratch. “Just this once, please. Next time, he can walk; I promise.”

The stag could only meet his eyes with a decidedly sharp backwards glance, before it began to move silently; hooves stepping delicately through the undergrowth and upon the leaf litter of the path. Qrow walked just as silent at it's side, quietly glad that his request hadn't fallen deaf ears, and that his friend was agreeable to it.

Grousing lightly at what it entailed, but agreeable nonetheless.

Red eyes glanced at the slumbering human as they travelled, ensuring he hadn't shifted as their journey began, and not for the first time, wondered what kind of trouble he'd brought to his forest. Those eyes narrowed faintly, running through a rather short list of answers. None of them entirely desirable, but then again, Qrow was a person that valued his little slice of stability within his forest.

Peace had been his for what felt like such a short snatch of time, and he knew it would eventually come to an end. But where trouble was usually delivered to his door by a letter, or someone else from the council coming a-knocking, this was something else entirely.

This was... something almost disturbing in its implications, and he resisted the urge to worry a bottom lip between teeth.

He'd know for certain eventually, but it still didn't stop him from disliking the notion of it all.

The sigh  _did_ slip from him, and he turned his eyes forwards once more. There was nothing in the stranger's appearance to give him any sort of indication of where he hailed from, nor was he able to discern any sort of accent from the pained snatches of words that fell from him.

His build and garb suggested a warrior, yet those were a dime a dozen wherever he went. No regional colours, nor insignia tying him to a clan or regency... a sell-sword perhaps? Ah, but they were just as common.

Dark brows furrowed, and red eyes fell to the path.

It still didn't answer the question as to  _why_ a mere sell-sword had been chased down, hunted by his own kind, and run through with a poison so vicious. Something that Qrow hadn't seen for many a year, and it brought no small amount of pause to him.

The heavy sigh suddenly flooded from him, shoulders dropping with the action, and he  _knew_ he was going around in circles. He'd have his answers. He would. He simply had to be patient, and the wait was going to drive him to madness in the meantime.

His free hand came up, running fingers through dark hair and allowing some of the tension to filter from him as shoulders relaxed. Right. He had things to prepare once they arrived home. Fingers slipped to the underside of his pouch, ensuring his boline was securely in place; they still had to find that willow and ask for a small stem to help secure the spell that now ran through the stranger's veins.

Red eyes glanced skywards as the breeze filtered through the canopy of the forest, stirring leaves gently above them. This was not at  _all_ how he pictured his day proceeding when he'd awoken early to tend to his garden.

He disliked uninvited guests at the best of times.

And this was...

The sigh fell from him, and the faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Well.

From the distance came a short spurt of angry chittering in the air, and from the speed at which it zipped towards them, Qrow could only smile in delicate amusement. The angry little puff of a wren flitted about the witch's head, loudly voicing its displeasure at him before taking up residence upon the stag's horns.

The stag himself seemed equally as disgruntled, and snorted at the little thing's noise as ears flattened for a moment. Qrow could only laugh at it as they all walked.

“I only said I'd be back within the hour,” he told the tiny bird, earning him an indignant puff of feathers as it shuffled to and fro along antlers. Qrow ignored it, turning his gaze back to the stranger, a gentler note running through his expression.

“The company's unexpected, but...”

His words trailed to a delicate stop, gaze once more caught on the slumbering form of the man. There was something he was missing; he knew it and it would gnaw gently at him until he had his answers.

There was more to this human than he was seeing, and almost unbidden, he allowed fingers to drift from their steadying hold on his side to that muss of a fringe. Brunet strands, lightly greying here and there, that had fallen across a brow. Fingertips brushed it away from closed eyes; that expression completely free from pain as he slumbered, and Qrow almost felt caught at the sight.

This human bore an innocence that seemed far and few between with his kind, that much was apparent, and the witch felt himself lost to the stranger's slumbering expression. Dark brows pinched lightly. What had brought him to his forest? Or better yet, what had hunted him, and who was he to those that pursued him?

Questions that still wanted to plague him, but he had to keep them buried for now.

Fingers curled away lightly from a brow, and he returned his hand to the man's side, red eyes returning to the path once more.

Answers would come in due time.

Silence clung to the small group as they wandered, and light began to break gently through the dense foliage about them, heralding the edge of the forest. Heralding home, just past their line of sight, and he almost wanted to sigh with relief. The light twittering from the wren drew his attention aloft, and Qrow followed it's flight with a faint smile as it took off for it's favoured corn stalk.

His little friend was certainly correct.

Trouble really  _did_ seem to follow him wherever he walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Glossary**
> 
> I'll try and keep this updated with each chapter goes up, and anything newly mentioned will go at the end of the chapters as they come out. It'll be a list of terms that are used, an index of herbs, both medicinally and how they work when casting spells.
> 
> Boline - A traditional witches' knife. Used to cut plants and herbs, wands and other things that need to be cut as part of spellcasting.
> 
> **Usage in casting spells**
> 
> Angelica - an excellent aid to protect, aid and remove hexes.
> 
> Carnation - adds to the power of spells to heal, increase physical strength, and increase vitality.
> 
> Elderberries - bring prosperity, sleep and help banich negative energies.
> 
> Ginger - makes physical exertion easier, can improve health in general and blesses effort with success in many directions.
> 
> Ginseng - increases vitality, brings love where there in indifference, beauty where there is none, health where there is sickness and hope where there is despair.
> 
> Willow - protects and heals, brings love into the spellmaker's life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring me home in a blinding dream  
> Through the secrets that I have seen  
> Wash the sorrow from off my skin  
> And show me how to be whole again
> 
> ~Castle of Glass, Linkin Park
> 
> And we're back with more of these goobers! Plus a surprise guest, thoroughly inspired by [this wonderful comic by Wes](https://yuli-the-bi.tumblr.com/post/631063345973395456/qrow-you-really-aint-slick-fair-game-weekend). With maybe a little tweaking along the way.

Something had gone wrong.

Qrow sat alongside the stranger as he slumbered almost peacefully in his bed; a footstool once used only for dumping clothing and whatever else landed upon it, now seemingly in a permanent place alongside his guest.

The chimes at the open window still whispered their gentle lullaby, bringing with them the scent of drying carnations, heady bergamot, and the delicate aroma of red sage leaves. Every so often, if Qrow had been aware, the gentle brush of lavender would rise to his senses from where he sat alongside him, and delicate birdsong twittered in from the garden outside.

Yet all he was acutely aware of was the man that remained sleeping in his bed.

The sigh threaded from him, and fingers curled in his lap from where they stayed. For the better part of that first evening, the stranger slept on, aided by the spell of Qrow's own doing. And it should have been enough to burn the poison from his body.

Red eyes narrowed.

It should have been all he needed...

He slept well through the night, thank the gods, and it wasn't until dawn touched him that it began.

He shivered as if cold, yet his skin was hot to the touch. Murmurs fell from lips like breathless apologies as fingers clutched at sheets, and he sweated into the following evening.

More than once, at the man's bedside with a cool compress upon a brow, he'd run the list of reagents through his head. Time and time again, he'd returned to his books to ensure he hadn't mistaken one herb for another; dark brows pinched as fingers traced heavy pages and lips moved in the same, silent murmur as his mind snatched at the words. Over and over, he'd seen the same answer – his spell had been perfect. The reagents he'd used had been brought together in the proper way; their energies working alongside one another for the correct completion of the spell.

Nails curled tight into his palms as he watched the man slumber.

The fever that burned within his system hadn't left. The poison still lingered when it should have been burned from him and banished.

Something had gone wrong.

He resisted the urge to let the sigh filter from him again, and he turned his gaze away from that peaceful face; his own a visage of frustration. Had the poison changed from when he last encountered it? Of course it had, came the immediate chide in his mind, and he closed red eyes.

He folded his arms across his chest, not for the first time running what he knew through his mind, even as the chittering of the birds continued delicately outside. The poison was a horrible thing, and it attacked nearly everything at once. Slipped into a person's meal over a period of time, it was almost untraceable. Applied directly to a weapon in it's undiluted form, and it was liable to kill within a matter of hours.

Yet the burning was new...

The burning was something he hadn't encountered before, and his palm still itched where the metal had pressed into skin briefly.

It had struck him earlier in the morning like a prophecy, snapping him awake in his chair, and after a rather hasty flight under a blanket of stars, had found the broken arrowhead where it had been torn from flesh. The foliage about it lay burned and dead; withered to nothing, and Qrow almost hissed his curses into the night.

The caustic nature of _this_ poison was enough to have dark brows furrowing where he now sat.

It was no wonder the blasted stuff had fought him all through his spell and nearly caused the stranger to lose his battle a second time; it had been worked upon to resist and shun any sort of magical touch.

It was why it sputtered harshly upon his blade. It was why Qrow's palm still bore the faint brush of a burn upon it. It was why the man himself felt that living fire tearing through his veins as the witch tried desperately to flash it out of him.

That poison was an abysmal thing on its own, and yet someone or something had known exactly how to keep it in place.

Lips pressed into a thin line.

Almost as if fate willed him to be the one to stumble upon the man.

Red eyes slivered open, unseeing to the world about him as he slowly drew the darker implications together in his mind. Ones that he didn't like in the slightest, yet he had to entertain them as a possibility until he had his answers.

He turned his gaze to the stranger, and unbidden, reached out to place his hand upon the man's brow, still feeling the warmth that ran under skin. The touch did nothing to rouse him, as had anything else, and he narrowed his eyes faintly.

This... was all he could do, until he knew for sure that-

The tiny blue wren shot in from the open window, clattering about his face in a cacophony of noise and he almost damn near swatted the thing from the air in startle. It landed upon the bedhead, bouncing up and down almost excitedly at seeing the witch-

Qrow drew a breath as realisation came too late. No. No it _wasn't_ excitement-

There came a loud banging at his door, and he _did_ startle hard, whipping his gaze over his shoulder as he stood sharply, nearly sending the little footstool to its side. He hadn't felt anything with ill-intent brush along his wards, there had been no other warning from the rest of the creatures, which meant-

Oh gods above and below, it was someone known.

That was the worst outcome of all.

Qrow hissed his curses into the air, and he rounded on the little wren. “Back outside. I don't want you making any noise in here,” he told it brusquely, and shooed a hand towards it as he walked from the room. The chittering continued as he closed the door behind him, muffling the noise somewhat.

Gods, but he disliked uninvited guests.

He made his way through his home with purposeful strides, weaving his way through hallways laden with towers of books, past furniture overflowing with stonewear and scroll and foliage of all kinds. He caught the faint sight of vibrant blonde in the sunlight as he glanced out the kitchen window, and he knew it would be moot to unleash yet another round of vitriol under his breath. Of all the times...

Fine. Hopefully a quick visit, and he could shoo her away just as quickly as that wretched bird.

Fingers curled upon the handle, opening it to meet that cool emerald gaze he knew so well. The woman stared back at him, hands already fisted at her sides as she stood within the sunlight. Pale brows furrowed at the sight of him, and she walked towards the open door.

“You're late,” Glynda told him simply, brusquely pushing past the man and entering his home. Qrow had little say in the matter, and he held his hands up in acquiesce, resisting giving rise to the venom on his tongue.

“By all means, come on in,” he intoned sarcastically as he closed the door behind her. The woman stood with her hands on her hips, glancing over the selection of herbs and flowers that hung drying above the man's kitchen table with vague disinterest. It gave her something to look at aside from him, after all.

“You'd best have a good excuse this time,” she began wearily, sounding for all the world as if she were merely disappointed in him. Qrow knew she would never be anything _but_ disappointed in him, and he leant up against the table by the door, finding space for his hands between occasional books and a pot of onions. “You know how Ozpin gets when you-”

Qrow drew the line at that, and he held up a hand to gently quiet her. “Ease up a little,” he replied softly, watching the line of her jaw set at the interruption. Still, she was visually giving him a chance to speak, and he took it as a small blessing. “I... had some trouble a couple of days ago. Some hunters thought they could chase their quarry into the forest, and I had to kindly show them the way out.”

Glynda faintly narrowed her eyes at him, seeing straight through the obvious bluff, and disdain settled upon her expression. Well, he thought, he was getting better at pulling the wool over her eyes. This time he lasted a whole two seconds.

“That's no different to your usual exploits,” she remarked simply. She drew her gaze away from him, lingering absently upon scrolls and books as the sigh slipped from her. She knew she was being short with him, but gods, he simply drew it out of her as easily as exhaling smoke.

Some habits were hard to break, after all.

Still...

“So be honest with me, Qrow.” A blunt offering, and fingertips traced across the hardwood of the table as emerald eyes met his gaze. “Please.”

He held her gaze for a handful of time, and hesitation settled in his chest like so much sand; heavy and unmoving. Gods above but she was asking a lot considering what the truth was, even if she hadn't the faintest idea. She'd have his guts for garters most likely; and that was a far cry to what the rest of the coven would do if they knew the truth.

Humans really were the worst predators of all, came the bitter hiss of his mind.

Time had taught him _that_ well enough.

The sigh threaded from him, and he broke from her gaze. Fingers tightened lightly about the edge of the tabletop and he resisted the urge to swallow.

He _also_ knew it was pointless to hide some part of the truth from her. And to _not_ involve the coven with what he'd discovered about this poison would be more than a bad idea. He knew they'd all need to know at some point, especially given its origins. Not to mention the fact it had been tampered with; that alone left him with pause for concern, and he could only imagine what the rest of the coven would say about _that_ particular fact.

“This hunt was different,” he told her softly, already moving from his place and leaning to reach for something hiding behind an earthen pot upon the hardwood table. Emerald eyes followed his movements as he produced the arrowhead in a small glass jar, and he held it out for her to inspect. Curious, she took the small jar, and as her gaze fell to the contents, she became wary of it, still turning it over slowly as it clinked lightly within.

“... where did this come from,” she murmured, eyes unmoving from it as she took in the flecks of dried and decaying leaf matter still stuck to it in places. She sensed death upon the little thing, and it was enough for her to wait for Qrow's answer.

“I... thought I could save what they were hunting,” he told her, nothing at all of a lie upon his tongue. It _had_ been the utter truth, after all. And still was, if he had anything to do with it. “It didn't go as well as I'd hoped, and...”

Hesitation nipped at him, drying his words, and he motioned to the tiny glass jar instead. “Take a whiff. It won't hurt you; just... don't touch it,” he told her.

Those emerald eyes left their quarry, meeting the witch's with her own well of hesitation. Now she was curious, especially when coupled with such a warning, and fingers delicately closed about the little stopper. With a faint pop, she plucked it free, and even before she'd brought it all the way to her nose, recoiled from it in startle.

Her eyes flicked over the broken piece of metal, brow furrowed sharply and searching for any sort of clue or tell or explanation of any kind... yet all she found was that same faintly acrid scent that had alerted Qrow's own senses days before.

Glynda knew it as well as the man before her, and her lips stayed parted in silent questioning. No... no, but it wasn't... As if coming back to her wits, she quickly corked it once more, placing it back upon the table with a clink as fingertips rested alongside it, not daring to keep her fingers upon it any longer. Not wanting to believe it as lips pressed into a thin line.

She shook her head faintly, still unable to tear her eyes from it.

“... that's not possible.”

The woman felt her stomach almost turn at the implications. At what this simple piece of metal suddenly meant to the both of them. At what sour path her mind was now treading because of it.

Qrow knew exactly where her mind had trailed, having wandered about the same courtyard for days now, and the sigh slipped from him as he collected the little thing from the table.

“And yet, here it is...” he unceremoniously declared. He walked from her, placing it upon the windowsill above the sink, where the glass caught the glint of light from outside and the arrowhead sat like a trapped bug.

The woman pressed her fingertips tight to the table, still gazing warily at it before tearing emerald eyes back to the man.

“You realise what this means? For all of us?”

Qrow's brow furrowed as he turned to face her, finding the question almost insulting. The sigh fell sharply from her at his glare, and she reached up to adjust her glasses as emerald eyes fell to the table.

“Of course you do...” she murmured, almost chiding herself for speaking it aloud as her gaze wandered away from the man's table and to an overflowing bookshelf at the end of it. “Very well. Apology accepted. I'll inform Ozpin and make ready for-”

Her words were suddenly cut short as she saw more than the simple clutter of the witch's home. For nestled simply alongside the bookshelf was a singular chair, still strewn with contents in the man's usual haphazard way... but the brush of fabric that lay across its back was new, and its odd colour caught her eye entirely.

As did the ragged and bloodied hem to it.

Emerald eyes narrowed a tick, and lips pressed into a thin line.

“... what prey did you say they were hunting.”

Qrow resisted the urge to draw a sharp breath at the realisation of her words, and instead merely let his gaze flick to the lone jerkin he'd pulled from the stranger that first evening. He _had_ planned to repair it for him, but given the sudden change in his circumstances, it had slipped his mind entirely; laying forgotten where he'd tossed it. Now his heart had leapt into his throat, threatening to smother the words upon his tongue as it pounded within his ears.

He knew better than to tip his hand around the woman at the best of times, and he'd gone and made the biggest mistake of all. Red eyes flicked back to her, and he fought the need to swallow through a tight throat.

“It's dealt with.”

Emerald eyes sharpened on him like a falcon's beak, tearing whatever else lay upon his tongue, and for a brief flicker of time, he saw a deeper strain of anger ripple across her expression.

She despised a blatant liar.

“That's not what I asked, Qrow.”

Before the final word had slipped from her, she was moving; stalking through his house in purposeful strides, and the man startled for a moment before he took off after her, nearly stumbling over his own possessions to catch up.

Glynda raised a hand, and with aggressive swats of gestures as she passed door after door, they flew open at her command, and she stormed past them just as quickly without a second glance. She reached the final one – Qrow's bedroom – and he damn near almost snatched at her arm to wrench her back from it.

At least until those same slender fingers suddenly coiled, engulfed in a blaze of white fire, and her eyes seared into his with equal ferocity.

He knew his life was worth little to her in that moment, and he _also_ knew that he'd just tipped his hand to her entirely about his little secret. There was no other option but to let her open the door, he knew, and he slowly drew back from where he'd almost made contact with her.

Smart choice, those eyes told him.

Glynda flicked away the fire from her hand, and fingers curled about the knob, pushing it open with ease and stepping in without hesitation. It didn't hit her at first – nothing seemed out of the ordinary – and the only thing that greeted her was the startled chirrup of a wren as it darted hastily out of an open window.

Fleeing it's chosen perch of a bedhead, where someone still lay slumbering within.

In a quiet rush, the woman felt all anger drain from her, and eyes widened as she slowly straightened to take in the stranger's form. The covers may have been pulled up to his shoulders, but it still didn't hide the appearance of bandages that swathed his skin. It couldn't disguise the fact that she could tell, intimately, what had brought the stranger here. Why Qrow harboured him here. She was no fool, and she was already rapidly piecing it together in her mind as lips pressed into a thin line.

Still.

Of all the foolish and idiotic stunts to pull.

“... a human.”

The breath slipped from her, even as Qrow felt it sigh from him, and he kept his pensive gaze firmly upon the door frame, simply waiting out the coming storm. Glynda herself felt caught between warring emotions, and she felt her fingers slowly curling and uncurling at her sides as she processed what she saw.

 _Tried_ to process.

Gods... a _human-_

She glanced over her shoulder, noting the way the man was refusing to meet her gaze, like a child scolded. _Scolded!_ As if he didn't see the bigger picture of-

Her hands clenched tightly and she turned to face him properly.

“... you brought... a _human_ ... into your home..?” she breathed, keeping her words as even as possible. Even as she felt the ground beneath her starting to fracture as white-hot anger licked at her heels. Even if she _knew_ he would probably have a damn good explanation to back himself up.

Even if she _knew_ that he was about as meticulous and careful as the rest of them – perhaps moreso – when it came to certain choices, but oh this... _this_ was almost enough to blow her entire estimation of the man out of the water.

Dark brows furrowed a hair, still avoiding her eyes, and Qrow bore the full brunt of that furious gaze as it burned across his skin with unrestrained malice, resisting the urge to rub at his arm.

“I didn't have a choice...” he breathed, barely heard above the rush of static in her ears.

She felt the cord fray and snap within her as she rounded on him sharply.

“Have you gone _mad?_ ” she nearly snarled at him, feeling nails dig into her palms. “Have you given any thought at _all_ about what will happen when he discovers where he is? About who you are? _What_ you are?” Gods above and below but she wasn't done with him, and she drew in a quick breath, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. “And what of the rest of the coven? When they find out you're harbouring a _human_ here in your spare time? Do you realise you've just put us _all_ in danger with this utterly idiotic stunt of-”

Qrow felt his own patience shatter like a vase dashed upon the ground at the unbridled scolding, and in a flare of light, those same wickedly pointed circles from before snapped into furious existence about his hands, flourishing further along his arms as he glared heatedly at the woman.

“I didn't have a _choice!_ ” he snarled right back at her, voice resounding sharply about the walls and chilling the very air about them; red eyes flaring as bright as the light that swathed his hands.

His outburst startled the woman into silence, and he realised his mistake sharply, if the way she suddenly jerked back from the force of his voice and curled a hand to her chest was any indication. Qrow himself seemed to sober at her reaction, and his furious expression slipped away, those circles fading from life as quick as they appeared about his hands, and fingers reached up to tiredly rub the vicious glow from red eyes.

“I didn't...” he murmured, shame burrowing into his skin at his loss of temper as he appeared to almost wilt.

Glynda could only watch him come down from his sudden rage, and the sigh slipped from her silently. She felt her own note of shame plucking at her thoughts, and emerald eyes flicked away for a moment. Provoking him always _was_ a bad idea, she thought in hindsight, and her brow pinched as she lowered her hand once more.

Fingers uncurled lightly at her side, and she almost gave in to the urge to reach out to him; to place a hand upon his arm and help him know that it was alright. An empty sentiment, it felt like in her mind, considering her words.

No, she'd brought this upon them both, and the only way through was forwards. As it always had been.

“You always have a choice, Qrow...” she told him gently.

For a long moment, it seemed he didn't catch her words, until he sighed long and low, allowing his hand to fall away from eyes that seemed far too dull compared to a moment ago, settling upon a door frame. His brow still furrowed deeply, and he brought his gaze up to hers, appearing for all the world like a thoroughly scolded child, and not the unbridled force of nature he was a heartbeat earlier.

She knew why it had wrought such a reaction from him. He knew as well, given how he'd all but cowed under the strength of his rage.

She knew what power lay in personal vendettas.

The shame coursed through him deeply, and he shook his head faintly, eyes still fixed upon hers. “It's my first real lead in years, Glyn...” he told her, fingers tightening about the wood. She saw the hesitation in his entire being, heard the fracture of his voice as he kept it all so tightly buried.

Felt the same pull behind her sternum that she had all those years ago, when those same eyes begged her and Ozpin in the exact same manner.

“Please... I can't... I can't let this one slip away...”

But Glynda was nothing, if not blessed and cursed at seeing the bigger picture. Something that lay _beyond_ personal vendettas.

The sigh wanted to fall from her, as easily as the headache that wanted to pluck at her senses, and she knew she'd be nursing a soothing mug of willow bark tea upon her return to the coven. Qrow was _utterly_ good at drawing the reaction from her at the best of times.

If Qrow had a reason to believe something as the truth, more often than not it left others slinking away with their tails between their legs when he was proven right. And very rarely was he wrong; the man had an inane talent for it, and it was a sight to see within a full coven meeting.

This, however... this was the biggest gamble he'd ever played, and she desperately hoped he wouldn't burn his fingers upon the dice.

She lifted her head slightly, jaw set as that almost pleading expression still held hers.

Ozpin was going to have _both_ their guts for garters when he discovered this little secret.

“For as long as you need information, he can stay here under your care,” she told him simply, consequences be damned.

After what had befallen him through the years, the man deserved to cast his own die upon the board for once. _Without_ the eyes of the coven judging him.

Qrow blinked at her, surprise blanketing his expression as he straightened lightly. Had he... heard that right? Did she really just..? Those emerald eyes continued to hold his gaze, and he knew he hadn't heard otherwise, but the heavy implications of her words...

Gods, but the warmth was spreading far too quickly through his chest at such a simple and flippant phrase. It brought with it the faintest brush of a smile as he lowered his hand from the door frame, something utterly heartfelt shining in his eyes.

“... thanks...” he breathed, and she'd already raised a hand to silence him.

“Don't thank me just yet; _I'm_ not going to be the one to tell Ozpin,” her words pierced the warmth in his chest, and he realised immediately that he was going to dislike _that_ particular conversation. He resisted reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, and instead caught her movement as she turned to the bedside table, eyes sweeping over what was left of reagents and herbs, compresses and bandages.

Glynda _did_ sigh then, short and clinical as she placed her hands upon her hips, assessing it all, in her usual brusque manner.

“Very well. What needs doing?” she asked.

Qrow came to a complete halt once more, and he raised a brow at her, not at all following the tack of her words. At his resounding silence, the woman glanced over her shoulder, giving him a dubious look.

“I'm asking what help do you need, Qrow,” she explained with a heavy touch of exasperation. At the vague parting of his lips, still completely confused, she resisted rolling her eyes like a child, turning to face him properly as she counted upon fingers. “You were two days late to begin with; unheard of, even for you. Your friend here was obviously hunted down for reasons we won't know until he awakens. The poison has been spelled to resist magical cleansing; you said so yourself. Not only that, but it's impeding whatever poultice you're applying to his wounds.” Glynda added, nodding her head to the rather overflowing nightstand.

She drew a hand away to gesture lightly at the window, where herbs and flowers hung. “And as much as your wards would usually work alongside such a simple healing, something's gone wrong, hasn't it? So. What do you need help with?”

For a long moment, all Qrow could do was stare back at her, and her rather expert summation at the entirety of his situation. Glynda was one thing, if not analytical to a fault, and she could swiftly piece together things at a glance.

It was no surprise at all that she'd ascertained _this much_ already.

The man stepped slowly into the room, almost cautiously not wanting to intrude into his own space, and he walked to the foot of the bed, one hand reaching for the bed post idly, feeling worn wood beneath. What needed to be done... Gods, but all that needed to occur was the swift passage of time and the miracle that he would awaken.

Those eyes still lingered on him, and the sigh fell from him as he stared at the stranger, still sleeping almost peacefully, given the circumstances. Hell, he'd burned through most of his fever during the night, but some part of it still clung to him like a sheen. Qrow was almost glad the season had begun to shift to something cooler to help the man during the night.

His brow furrowed the longer he watched him, and fingers tightened about the wood.

He just... needed him to awaken.

“His... fever hasn't broken entirely. And it's been that way ever since I found him,” Qrow began softly, sifting through his thoughts to place them in some sort of scattered order. He resisted giving in to the urge to rub tiredly at his brow, and instead chewed lightly at a lip for a moment. “Everything I used was for a standard ward. To promote healing and to... to nurture strength and vitality. Carnation, elderberry, ginger and ginseng, some angelica. I even bound it all with a willow branch.”

The woman gave a faint noise of thought, running those same reagents through her mind. No, there was nothing amiss there. Which only left the physical side of things, rather than the protective properties of what Qrow had chosen. With a glance to the room about her, she saw some of those same wards hanging about them, and the man was right – it _should_ have been enough.

With furrowed brows, Glynda turned her attention to the nightstand, cataloguing the contents upon it, and she removed the stopper to an earthen jar, glad to see it was still mostly full of that delicate powder. Slippery elm. Good.

It would do the stranger the world of good once he awoke. She cast her eyes back to the witch, and the sight of him as he watched the man slumber; something pensive tugging at his brow. He could do with a brew of some himself, she mused, as it looked like the poor thing hadn't slept since this all began.

It was no wonder his patience was thinner than usual, she realised.

“Honestly, though...” the breath of a murmur fell from her as she replaced the jar and reached for a handful of dried wood sorrel and turning it over in her hands. Qrow glanced up at her softly chiding tone, pulled from his ruminations. “Involving yourself with a human...”

She decided against her choice, and instead returned to the slippery elm, tapping the edge of the jar enough to tip a little into the teapot's infuser. Yes, this would do a much better job than sorrel.

Holding the teapot in her palm, she lightly tapped the rim of it twice, and a small globe of water spun into existence above it. With a delicate blow from her lips, it suddenly hissed and bubbled with steam, and it poured itself into the waiting teapot.

Glynda allowed the white fire from earlier to encircle her fingers as she held the pot, fingers reaching for its little lid. “You've never shown any interest before, even with one as intriguing as-”

Her words died on her lips as she finally looked down at the stranger, seeing him for the first time beyond her earlier rage, the lid of the teapot caught in her fingers. He was... certainly built for a fight, that much was sure. His physique alone was enough to suggest he was more than capable of defending himself against a mere poison.

 _Heavens,_ but his physique was-

His skin was darker than most others of his kind, suggesting heavy travel or equally heavy toil under the ravages of the sun. Peeking from the edges of the sheets came a peculiar design, tattooed onto a bicep, and she almost cursed the fact her hands were occupied, curious as to the rest of it.

Emerald eyes blinked at the slumbering man, and with as much delicacy as her focus would allow, lowered the teapot to a waiting trivet; tea now the farthest thing from her mind.

She did give in to temptation then, and fingers, still warm, reached out to carefully open one of his eyes, finding the clearest green she'd ever seen upon a human.

“... oh.”

The word fell from her as she drew back, and Qrow could only stare back at her, not seeing what could have caused her to stumble over her thoughts. Granted, he'd had a couple of days worth of staring at him during his slumber, so perhaps she was seeing something he'd missed in his frustrations. He returned his glance to the man, and not for the first time, willed a speedy recovery into existence for him.

Still... it was with no small amount of amusement that the very word Glynda had uttered had been the first one to fall from the stranger's lips at his presence, and it drew the faint smile to his own.

Even if it were unintentional, this stranger was already showing him a wonderfully ironic sense of humour.

He'd have to thank him for it when he woke up.

The faint snort caught his ears, and he perked lightly, bringing his gaze back up to the woman staring all but straight through him. He wasn't at all prepared for the intensity of it, and red eyes flicked away briefly, blinking back to her in caught confusion.

“You could _not_ be more obvious,” she murmured.

Qrow felt her words slip above his grasp for a moment, and he was left staring back at her for a lost handful of time.

At least, until it thwapped him full in the forehead with her intended meaning, and eyes widened faintly under sharply furrowed brows, colour blossoming across his cheeks. Shoulders bunched lightly as he bristled, and he turned his eyes sharply to the window as the woman continued to stare at him, effectively pouting his way out of making any sort of eye contact with her.

Witch indeed, his mind spat feebly.

“... shut up,” he told her softly, barely above a breath.

Glynda could only follow his little reaction with silence, and she glanced back down to the slumbering stranger, allowing the knowing smile to brush light across her lips.

Well, she thought. It wasn't a no. And this stranger certainly _was_ an easy subject to watch.

She went about her business, decidedly ignoring the elephant in the room and pouring herself a cup of tea. Let the poor thing fumble through his thoughts, she mused; he certainly needed the mental break, after all. She sorted and sifted through the ingredients needed for the stranger's poultice, gathering together what was salvageable, and walked to the door with a few odds and end in her arms.

“I'm going to heat some more water,” she told the witch simply, and noting how those almost startled red eyes followed her as she left. Heels clicked dull upon the floorboards as she entered the kitchen somewhat more sedately than the first time, and she placed her goods upon the counter one at a time.

It was of no surprise to her, she finally allowed herself to think.

Relations with humans were at all times treated with a fairly businesslike tedium, and it suited both of their kinds perfectly. A few potions and concoctions here and there, the occasional charm for needed coin, hexes and wards where charms failed, and it was all either of their parties needed.

Sometimes, however... sometimes the line faded and smudged, and needs extended past the need for coin, the need for such simple trinkets, and it slipped into something more tangible. The sigh fell from her as she crushed waiting herbs into a fine powder, a mindless task that allowed her thoughts to wander onto other matters.

They had all dabbled to varying degrees over the years. It was in both their natures, after all. Some witches had even left their covens, left their old lives, to start anew with their human companions. Very rarely did it go the other way, as it was a world far beyond their comprehension at times.

Yet even when the yearning of lifelong companionship didn't run as deep, there were always baseless trysts. Physical connections made where curiosity was broached. Even Glynda could recall a time when...

She cleared her throat softly, dumping her crafted powder into a waiting bowl and reaching for the tap. Hot water. She needed hot water for the poultice. Anything to steer her thoughts from the warm brush of colour upon her cheeks, and she tucked a stray lock of blonde behind an ear.

Everything was in place, and all she needed to do was create the paste for the poultice.

Emerald eyes narrowed as she filled enough water into a small iron pot, and set it to hang above the large fire that crackled slowly at the side of the room, watching as embers sparked back to life with a simple snap of her fingers.

It was remiss of her to let her thoughts stray, she knew, especially when she had more delicate matters appearing before her. One of their own was suddenly faced with his own realisation, and Qrow had never really... well.

His interests had been far and few between, and all of them resulting in little more than heartbreak for the poor man. As a result, he'd taken to shunning everyone and everything, locking himself within the bounds of his duty to the coven, burying himself in his role as guardian of the forest.

Ignoring himself for the sake of everyone around him.

Gods, but the man gave almost too much of himself away without ever sharing a scrap.

The wistful smile smile graced her lips as she watched the steaming pot above crackling logs and licks of flame; Ozpin certainly knew how to pick them. Deeming it hot enough, she pulled a thick bolt of cloth about her hands, and hefted the pot onto the edge of the open hearth, mindful of the steam. Gathering her little bowl of powder, she carefully measured a few scoops of water into the centre of it, rapidly stirring it as a soft murmur of words slipped from her.

Something to help speed the stranger's healing, even if the poultice itself should have been enough. Even if her friend's spellwork should have been enough

Yet it _hadn't_ been enough. Just as Qrow's own thoughts had strayed, so too, did Glynda's, as all the man really needed was time. They could place as many magically infused remedies and poultices upon him as needed, but until that wretched fever broke – and that ensorcelled poison bled from his system – it was little more than a waiting game.

The sigh fell from her, and she walked silently back to the man's bedroom once more. They were in a messy business, the two of them; peddlers of concoctions and potions and oftentimes little else in the eyes of humans.

How blind to the world those poor creatures truly were...

She placed a hand to the door frame, catching sight of the witch as he sat at his chosen vigil, at this stranger's side, and Glynda allowed the faint thread of a smile to grace her lips. She knew why he'd become so taken with this one. Answers, undoubtedly. The first real chance he'd had in years, he'd told her.

But he was following a wild hare into it's winding den, and she knew the answer he sought was impossibly lost to them all. Qrow's singular vendetta to complete his lifelong quest was a horrid one, and she _knew_ no good would come of his fascination to see it through to the end.

Fingers slipped from the wood, willing the melancholy from her expression. She didn't want to see himself lost to such a thing like she'd seen so many others in her lifetime, and she fought off the sigh that caught upon her tongue..

Obsession was a terrible curse, and their kind were wretched victims of it at the worst of times.

Gods, but she'd give anything to see him follow something for himself, and not just for the benefit of the coven. To find his own path and choose his own happiness. Emerald eyes flicked down to floorboards. Something that she could never...

She stepped into the room, leaving those lingering thoughts at the door where they belonged; no need to bring excess negativity into such a heavily spelled room of healing, after all. Fingers curled atop Qrow's shoulder, and he glanced up at her, not having heard her enter.

With a delicate smile, she reached for bandages and cloth suitable for the poultice, and with Qrow's tired eyes upon her, she went about her own duty of caring for this human.

“Drink your tea before it cools,” she spoke gently into the air, eyes firmly on her work as she began the business of removing old and sullied bandages. Qrow perked at her words, and he glanced distractedly over to where the teapot from earlier sat. He hadn't realised the tea was intended for him, and with a sheepish murmur of thanks, reached for it, pouring himself a cup and taking a long draught of it, glad for something in his hands.

His palms were starting to hurt with how tightly he'd clenched nails into them, and the warmth bit into skin.

He kept his gaze firmly upon the cup as his friend worked, and allowed himself a brief moment to let his thoughts swim. He knew he was crossing a line, faint as it was. He knew withholding information from Ozpin was a dangerous game, but... gods he needed to know.

He needed it.

He felt his brow furrow faintly, and fingers tightened light upon the earthen cup.

And more to the point, Glynda was wrong. Utterly so. There was absolutely no connection between the two of them. Hell, the stranger had only gasped out strangled words of warning, clutched at him tight enough to bruise, and spilled out a dawning breath of realisation before he was lost to the world around him. There was little else of note about him, save for the witch's own curiosity to sate his own personal quest.

Even _if_ those eyes still sang in his memory like a morning dew, clear and bright.

Qrow took another draught from his cup, finishing it off sharply and willing himself not to cough about the last of it. No. She was wrong.

The woman in question drew back from her work finally, a satisfied sigh upon her lips as she dropped the sodden bandages into the now empty bowl of poultice. While initially surprised that Qrow would choose to bandage a sealed wound, she could see the merit in drawing free the poison from the weakest part of the man's body. Inflammation still coursed through the site, and it was a wise choice on the witch's behalf. Giving a final nod at her work, she turned her attention to the man at her side, and without a word, stooped to lace a hand about his shoulders, and a delicate press of lips to the crown of his hair.

“That should be enough until tomorrow,” she told him gently, standing once more as her hand lingered upon shoulders. “When he awakens, more of that tea – for both of you. And two measures of it before sleep. His fever should break before dawn, if what his blood tells me is true, but he'll need a drawing poultice for the next three days afterwards – possibly longer depending on his strength.”

With a final squeeze of fingers, Glynda withdrew her hand, walking to the door without another word. It startled Qrow into standing up, placing his cup to the nightstand as he hastily realised she was leaving.

She heard him clatter to his feet, and drew to a stop, turning to glance at him over a shoulder. For a moment, he seemed to falter for his words now that he'd caught her attention, finding them lost upon his tongue, and the woman found it almost endearing. Not often was Qrow lost for a sharp remark or parting tone in her presence.

She'd have to thank the stranger for this pleasant change when he awoke.

“Glyn, I...” he began, curling fingers lightly at his side. She resisted the urge to smile at him, instead allowing her gaze to soften as he sorted himself out.

“Thank you. For everything,” he finally told her, and she could only allow the faint slip of laughter to fall from her, visage cracking finally.

“I would say don't mention it, but... well. That honour is entirely yours.”

Without another word, she slipped from the man's sight, dull footsteps echoing through the hall until he heard the faint click of his front door closing.

The breath fell from him, one that he didn't realise he'd been holding, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the silence in the room. Even the little wren had taken to watching everything from afar, and hadn't dared to intrude on the happenings within Qrow's abode.

A blissful reprieve, almost, his mind whispered tiredly.

He turned from the door, allowing red eyes to fall onto the sleeping man, and he felt that same sensation from before. The need to have answers; the war within himself to wait and be patient, struggling against the desperation that sat thin beneath his skin.

He was cautious and patient by trade, and what this man had presented him with was... _leagues_ above such silly notions.

Those eyes brushed his memory again, and the ferocity of his hold upon his wrist as he fought to hang on, and it was enough to turn Qrow's gaze away from him.

She was wrong. All he needed were answers.

And if all he had to do was keep some human alive to get them, then he would damn well do just that.

***

Night slipped though the boughs of the forest, bringing with it a blessed cool breeze that stirred through leaves like a delicate whisper. Not even enough to rouse the birds from their slumber, and the silence was a gentle reminder that the seasons would soon shift.

Hanging from an open window, a small collection of chimes lay still; their song silent until dawn arrived. Even the drying herbs and flowers that hung alongside them could not help but trickle their heady aromas down upon the sleeping occupant of the room.

Well.

Almost sleeping.

There came a dull thunk of something dislodged within the dim of the room, hitting the rug, and brunet brows pinched, slumber chased away. It felt warm where he lay, horridly so, but... he already knew it was oceans away from the fire that had scorched through him earlier.

Eyes blinked sluggishly open, lost upon an unfamiliar ceiling for a long moment as he took stock of himself. His mind felt dry. Cottony. As if something had reached inside of him and scrubbed him raw, only to replace it all with fuzz.

It was almost a blissful feeling, if he didn't think about the consequences too hard.

He blinked languidly, noting how dark it was, and finally registered the dull glow of the moonlight whispering in from the outside world. Night, then. He'd been out for the better part of the day. A pleasant scent found him, and he couldn't piece together what it was; only that it was soothing and slipped into his senses, inviting him coyly back into slumber. The stranger heard a soft breath of a murmur from next to him, and he turned his head to find the source of it.

A man. A dark head of hair to him as he sat alongside the bed, half curled upon an overflowing nightstand, arms bracing him somewhat haphazardly there. Fallen asleep where he'd sat himself, and the man could only watch him for a moment, green eyes taking in his tired looking form.

That explained the noise that woke him, then.

He knew this person, his mind whispered. There was something familiar in the colour of the clothes he wore, and the trinkets that adorned skin, softly glinting in the moonlight with each languid breath he took.

He knew him, yet his mind snatched unhelpfully at shadows and not at answers.

Not until the man shifted a little within dreams, fingers curling in on themselves and the deep slip of a groan spilled across parted lips. Only then, did the tone of that voice pluck at something nestled in his memories, and he felt something gently sweep away at the haze that gripped him.

It was the man that had healed him.

Those fingers curled tighter, the man withdrawing in on himself a little as dreams shifted to something less desirable, and there came a sharper suck of breath from him. The stranger felt his gaze languidly stretch to those hands as they unfurled, and he saw a still-fading mark upon a palm.

Something that looked distinctly like a burn.

His brow furrowed as he thumbed through the hazy memories in his mind, knowing the answer was there; he just had to find the right ones. Everything still seemed fuzzy through the warmth, and with delicate realisation found the answer. Ah, his mind whispered, he'd touched the arrowhead. He recalled his flicker of a warning to the healer, but it had obviously been too late at that point.

With a faint breath of his own, slipping silent from him, he realised this healer had harmed himself to save him. It sent the sliver of guilt trickling through his chest, and he flicked green eyes over the rest of him.

He was becoming weary of people doing such things for him...

Dreams continued to snatch at the healer, and the stranger knew there was only thing he could do.

Kindness for kindness sake, as he'd always clung to.

With limbs feeling leaden and sluggish, he pushed an arm free of sheets that lay far too heavy atop him. The cool of the air was almost blissful on his skin, yet he felt like a drunken man navigating his way to the open doorway. With as much delicacy as he could force into his touch, he gently allowed his hand to settle atop the healer's knee, curling fingers softly about cloth.

He gave a gentle squeeze, slipping delicately into the healer's dreams, allowing him to feel the soothing touch of comfort nearby.

It took a small snatch of time, but green eyes watched as the healer began to slowly relax under his hold. The furrow of his brow began to smooth, and fingers lost the tension within them. Softly, slowly, the gentle touch began to bring him back into more peaceful dreams, and his breathing evened out in the silence of the room.

Those eyes watched the subtle transformation with little more than whispered relief, and his own expression softened. Better, his sluggish mind concluded lightly. Much better, and his own slumber plucked at his senses like fingers upon a harp.

The lines upon that tired visage were chased away, allowing blissful relief to enshroud him once more.

It suited this healer far better than that pensive scowl he remembered, and the smile wanted to prick at the corner of his mouth. He'd have to give him his thanks in the morning, he realised.

The words plucked at his memories somehow, and he knew there was something he was forgetting.

Certainly not the way his eyes shone like rubies glistening in the light, and the thought brought him no small amount of pause as the haze of sleep tugged further at him. Oh, but he remembered those eyes so vividly, and he was almost disappointed that peaceful slumber had returned to the healer.

Perhaps, in the morning, he'd see them again. When he gave his thanks to him, he'd see them, bright and clear and not through the haze of fire that had blistered through his senses.

Yes, the stranger thought.

Everything would be better in the morning, and he allowed the wisps of sleep to drift about him, pulling him deep within their embrace as darkness claimed him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Glossary**
> 
> Lavender - commonly used for anxiety, stress and insomnia.
> 
> Bergamot - used to uplift and refresh the senses.
> 
> Sage - used in a spell, brings energy to the listless, wisdom to the foolish and determination to the ailing.
> 
> Willow bark - acts a lot like aspirin. It's most commonly used for pain and fever.
> 
> Wood sorrel - medicinally, it can work as a blood cleanser and will strengthen a weak stomach.
> 
> Slippery elm - considered one of the most valuable remedies in herbal practices, the abundant mucilage it contains has wonderfully strengthening and healing qualities. It makes an excellent drink in cases of irritation of the mucous membrane of the stomach and intestines, and taken at night will induce sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I caught a glimpse of your light  
> When I was empty inside  
> And through the nothingness  
> I found this world
> 
> ~Rise, Madkid

Sunlight was a curse of a thing.

It was wonderful for his garden, and all of the creatures within the forest would happily laze in its warmth come the turning of the seasons; languidly worshipping its light as the cold sank deeper into skin and bone. Summer was usually always mild and forgiving underneath the dense canopy and cooling ferns, but it was winter within the boughs that bit deeply.

The sun was a blessing during winter, when it would break through thick snow clouds, providing thin warmth to whatever it touched. Even Qrow could appreciate the warmth of the sun in the dead of winter.

But before it rose, in the dark mauve of the dawn that whispered across the sky... that was Qrow's favourite time. It was quiet, as the world slept about him. Still. He could work in peace.

He was... content.

When things were dim, it was easy to look past the creases and the marks. The blemishes disappeared in candlelight. It was easy to avoid the details. It was easy to remain unnoticed.

No, he disliked the sun for many reasons.

Chief of which was when it shone directly upon his face, bright and intrusive through an open window, slumber shoved roughly from him.

Brows furrowed, and the groan of sleep broken threaded from him. Enough, his weary mind grumbled, and he burrowed his face further into folded arms to avoid its touch. Unperturbed, it burned down upon his hair, warming him and pulling him further from slumber. Gods above, if it wasn't one thing, it was another trying to get his blasted attention at all hours of the day.

At least the sunlight wasn't akin to warbling and nattering in his ear at daybreak like some other pests in his life.

Small miracles, then.

He drew a languid, deeper breath, letting it bunch through his shoulders as he shifted against his chosen pillow. Oh, but they ached, he realised, and he felt his body protest wearily. One of these days, it would teach him not to sleep in strange positions for extended periods of time, but honestly, he was still learning his lesson from last time.

His neck would ache for days now, he knew. Heat and soothing ointment would work little by little.

It would also help if he stopped doing such a thing in the first place.

Arms stretched out lightly, feeling joints pop and protest, and it was enough to bump haphazardly into the collection of odds and junk upon the nightstand. A small earthen jar clattered to the ground with a thud, thankfully only spilling its contents of marigold petals upon the rug, and it was enough to startle the witch awake.

He blearily shot upright with such force that he had to hastily dart hands out to catch another small jar of herbs, fingers tight about the stopper and breath caught in his throat. The sigh of relief fell heavily from him, shoulders sagging from his rude awakening, and he placed it back upon the nightstand, red eyes taking in the mess of dried petals upon the floor.

A wonderful start to the day.

The curse slipped from him as he all but slid groggily off his stool to his knees, the disgruntled muttering rolling through his mind as he began the awful job of collecting the tiny pieces of mess.

He was surprised someone else wasn't already warbling at him far from throwing range for being a clumsy oaf again, and it was enough to bring the humourless smile to his lips.

Qrow paused, fingers hovering above petals.

... he was surprised he wasn't hearing  _ anything  _ of the sort. He glanced up, finally taking in his surroundings, and finding the bird's usual spots of up in the rafters and upon other inconvenient belongings vacant. His brow furrowed, and he glanced over his shoulder to the bedhead – another new spot for the small nuisance – and red eyes widened.

The slow draw of breath sucked across his tongue as he dropped what was in his hand, scattering petals once more as he took in the vacant bed.

“No...” the murmur bled from him as he glanced over neatly made covers. Distinctly missing a  _ person _ from them. “No, no... no...” The word continued to slip from him as he tasted his heartbeat in the back of his throat, almost scrabbling to the side of the bed; marigold petals suddenly the farthest thing from his mind.

Red eyes skittered across the bed, wishing –  _ praying _ – that the stranger would almost materialise before him.

She warned him. Glynda had  _ warned _ him, and he got to his feet in a panic, darting his gaze through the window alongside the bed; sweeping across the garden and finding nothing. He clattered to the other side of the room, hands colliding heavily with the window frame as he jerked his head outside, trying to find any sort of indication of where the stranger had-

_ How _ the hell had he even recovered that fast?

How did-

Gods above, what the hell did that witch put in his poultice? What the hell had she put in his  _ tea  _ to make him sleep heavily enough to miss a gods forsaken  _ human _ wandering about his room in the middle of the night?

Fingers curled tight about wood, and he held his breath for a moment of time, brow furrowing deeply as he tightened his jaw.

He never even got the chance to  _ ask _ -

Qrow hissed out his breath and he stepped back from the window, letting hands fall to his sides. He hung there for a moment; gaze cast out the window and seeing nothing before him, as a hand trailed up to dark hair, running fingertips through it in frustration. He just about let slip with the curses that still burned on his tongue, and he knew it was moot.

_ Gods, _ but he already needed a-

The light call of birdsong from the depths of his home caught his ears, and he drew his gaze up to the closed door. Confusion settled across his brow, and he was already hoping there was a  _ damn  _ good reason for the bird to somehow be locked within the house by himself. He  _ knew _ there were no open windows there, and certainly the little thing wouldn't be dull enough to secret himself down the gods damn chimney.

Surely he couldn't be that lucky...

Qrow was already walking to the door, fingers curling about the brass knob and turning it delicately to avoid the squeak. Gently, it opened before him, and the sound of that pleasant nattering filtered further down the hall. For once he was damn glad to hear it, and he slipped further into the depths of his home.

He still heard nothing else as he approached the kitchen, and felt his heart skitter in his chest at the realisation.

That blasted bird had followed the stranger.

The delicate warbling song he'd heard the entire time was during one of it's happier moments; not at all like the angry chittering it usually shot in the witch's direction.

His feet stilled, sobering him where he stood as a second thought snatched at him. His tiny charge had followed him, and yet the stranger... remained within his house. Red eyes flicked to the floorboards as he mulled over it quickly. Was he still so injured that something had happened during his escape? No... no, he would have  _ heard _ something of the sort during the night. Not only that, but the little wren  _ certainly  _ wouldn't be singing such a happy tune.

Lips pressed into a thin line, and he scarcely felt fingers curling into loose fists at his sides. Surely the stranger had worked out where he was, and what it meant for him to stay.

Surely he had discerned  _ what _ he was.

Qrow stilled the sound of thought upon his tongue as he brought his concentration to the world about him once more. Silently, he paced through the empty hallway, and despite himself, fingers still reached for the blade at his side, curling about the leather.

His mind also briefly entertained the unsavoury thread that the two of them had been tracked and found from some days earlier, but it was immediately dashed. No. No, there wasn't a chance of that. His wards were still in place, and nothing nor no one had alerted his senses.

It still didn't help but bring the echo of his heart to his ears as he walked silently, carefully, through his house.

Not that he really savoured the idea of a scuffle within his own walls first thing of a morning, but he knew better than most what it meant to be prepared for anything. Given the stranger's state, he highly doubted anything would come of it, yet he knew better than to push his luck.

He'd gambled with his fair share of  _ that  _ particular fire before.

Red eyes narrowed as he peered about the corner and into the vast depths of the kitchen, sweeping across the empty space. The same collection of goods and chattels in the very same place he'd left it all the night before, yet still distinctly missing one man. Very well. That only left-

There came a soft snap from the fireplace, and he glanced over to it. The logs within had shifted, some of the sap popping and crackling as embers began to settle, and he saw the still steaming teapot left to cool upon the edge of the hearth. It was enough to bring him to a halt entirely.

It was recent. There was no possible way anyone else could have done it, and Glynda certainly wouldn't have snuck in to set it for him.

That settled it, then.

The stranger was  _ definitely  _ still there.

Qrow drew his gaze to the front door, and brows went up at the sight of the it slightly ajar. And despite himself and despite his conclusions, he still felt that fear dart into his throat once more as he stepped quickly towards it.

Fingers curled about the edge and he flung it open without stopping, red eyes already sweeping across the front of his house as he came to a halt at the edge of his porch. His breath stilled in his chest for a moment, seeing nothing but the expanse of garden and foliage, of glittering wards and insects already bustling about flowers in the early morning warmth.

He closed his eyes, quickly allowing his attention to flit through each of those wards – both near and far – and could already feel that they remained strong. Unbroken.

They remained entire, whilst the stranger remained missing.

The sigh hissed heavily from him, fingers curling tight about his dagger and causing the leather to creak in protest.

Stupid.

He'd been stupid to get his hopes up; chasing fruitless answers yet again.

Red eyes closed, letting the bitter taste of defeat sting through him. Time and time again, his mind hissed. He  _ despised _ how disgustingly hopeful he got every single gods forsaken-

A faint scent coiled about his senses; warm fenugreek slipping through his disappointment and... no. No, not fenugreek. And that light call of birdsong had ceased-

He darted his gaze and his blade instinctually to the side, the wren releasing a shrill cry and zipping away from it's perch of a shoulder, and the stranger left sitting upon his porch bench merely glanced at the weapon in curious disinterest. The warm mug of slippery elm tea still gathered in fingers as he remained sitting forward; injured arm sitting loose in his lap.

Qrow could have been offering him a feather for all the reaction the stranger displayed to the dagger whipped towards his face.

For a moment, they both simply stared at the other, and it took Qrow a handful of time to realise that the man still looked like absolute death warmed up, and that pointing a knife at him seemed more than a little silly.

He'd been concerned about a fight, and the man barely had enough capacity to sit upright without sweating; the sallow look having returned to his skin with the advent of movement.

“... morning,” the croak of a breath came from the stranger, and the witch blinked back at him, hesitantly withdrawing and slowly sheathing the blade. Not once did their gazes budge from one another, even if the man fought back the faint wince as he drew his mug to his lips.

“You... didn't try to escape.”

The interesting phrase fell from the healer, and even the stranger could tell it sounded a little odd to his ears. Why in heavens name would he try to  _ escape? _ Clearly it wasn't some hallucination sitting upon the man's porch, drinking his tea and watching the idle stillness of his garden. The healer realised it just as quickly, and was the first to duck his gaze away in something akin to mild embarrassment.

Those green eyes glanced over the man, curious as to what kind of strange creature this healer was. He was talented, if nothing else, for he certainly wouldn't be sitting there otherwise. Perhaps something  _ had  _ happened to explain his odd behaviour, but, then again, he reasoned, most healers were an odd breed to begin with.

He carefully swallowed another mouthful of tea, lowering it once more to the bench alongside him.

“... had to thank you first,” he murmured, voice dry from disuse and the taste of smoke in the back of his throat. It still burned, and he wasn't about to push the delicate friendship with his body by speaking any louder than necessary. The tea was helping in leagues, and he vastly appreciated the feeling of something soothing and hot against his throat. Whatever it was made of was pleasant; something he hadn't quite experienced before. It was faintly sweet – a flavour that tickled his memory somewhat – and he was glad it had been left out for him.

Those red eyes glanced back over to him, confusion bright in their depths, and gods above, they were just like what he could recall between dreams.

Brilliantly red. Shining like something he'd never seen before, and he could only imagine their colour if he'd step into the sunlight. Gods but he'd never seen a colour so bright or intense, and to see them with his wits about him was a blessing. He was glad, not only for the mere fact that he could see them once more, but to also pass on his thanks to the man.

It seemed the right thing to do, after saving his life.

Red eyes continued to watch him for a beat of time, before they blinked, narrowing faintly. He could tell there was a delicate decision made in the healer's mind, and after a moment, Qrow sighed in vague resignation. He watched as the healer folded his arms across his chest, turning to sweep his gaze across the blooming flowers of the garden.

“You'd be one of the first...” the breath slipped from him, almost missed by the man. Almost, but not quite.

Those sharp red eyes turned back to him, a question in their depths and a furrow upon his brow.

“How long have you been out here?”

The stranger seemed to pause at the words, letting his thoughts mull over the answer a little. It seemed like he was clutching at smoke for the most part, trying to separate dream from reality, and he sat back slowly; allowed his body to relax a little against the cladding of the house with a guarded wince. Slow and steady, he told himself; allow yourself to get used to gentle movement first.

He knew his injury had been dire. He also knew it still hurt like a bitch if he moved too fast. Not surprising, given the nature of it.

The quiet exhale left him as he resisted the urge to reach up and rub at bandaging, clearing his throat softly instead.

“... since dawn... I think.” A beat of time, and those brilliant green eyes glanced up at the healer once more. “... thanks for the tea, by the way.”

There was a flicker of confusion across that expression, the healer a little lost at his second thanks in such a short handful of time.

“... had to... guess a little by the smell,” he added with a humourless huff. “... figured if it was safe for you to drink, wouldn't hurt for a dying man to try.” The stranger closed his eyes in vague discomfort as he shifted, good hand resting across his stomach. He missed the way the healer seemed to still at his words, red eyes quickly skirting over the rest of him in sharp concern.

“The jar.”

The hurried words fell from him, and those green eyes glanced up at him once more.

“The jar you used – describe it,” the healer pressed, quickly. The man could only languidly blink back at him, though he could certainly understand his concern. Presented as he was with an absolute library of goods, with only his nose to go by, he could only take a shot in the dark as to their uses. Not to mention there was no telling which ones were beneficial, and which ones were poisonous.

Still, he was no fool, and despite feeling like death warmed up, had most of his wits about him.

“... the one next to your teapot where you slept,” came the simple reply, and it was enough to shut down the healer's immediate concern in a heartbeat. “... earthen, green glaze at the top and on the stopper, about yay-” He automatically lifted his injured arm to indicate the height when the wince snatched at his expression, and he delicately switched to his good hand instead, “...yay high; the powder inside was white with a smell something like honey and celery.”

Qrow could only stare back at him as he slowly released the breath he'd been holding. Well, at least he was smarter than most when it came to his reasoning. Gods above and below, if he'd picked up the same smelling one in the kitchen...

The fenugreek would have done little else but give him something sweet to drink, thankfully. But he dreaded to think what he would've found if the man had decided the one in the hall was what he was after.

He didn't fancy saving his life for the second time in a matter of days. Not to mention Glynda  _ would _ kill him then.

“Just... don't do that again,” the witch murmured, already walking towards the human. He took note of how those eyes followed him as he stopped some paces away, no hint of caution in their gaze. This stranger was either entirely too used to danger, or far too trusting for his own good. Both points raising more questions than they needed.

He tilted his head a little as he analysed the stranger; a physician's gaze sweeping over him as arms unfolded, hands settling on his hips.

“Alright, well... how are you feeling?” came the abrupt question as eyes took in the sight of the stranger's bandages. There was no sign of weeping underneath, nor discolouration. The inflammation had reduced slightly overnight, even if it was a little hard to tell past the colouring of his skin and the swathe of cloth still wound about his chest.

His eyes were still bright. Clear. Startlingly so, and Qrow knew there was no point in inspecting his gaze further.

It still didn't stop the breath from stilling in his chest as he realised he was seeing them properly; for the first time without the haze of pain, and they were brilliantly green. Rich. Almost unnaturally so.

But their colour was healthy, even in the shade of his porch, and he ducked his own away after a moment, falling to still healing nicks and scratches here and there upon skin. The signs of a chase through thick undergrowth, where thorns and foliage had dogged both the man and his pursuers. It explained the state of the man's jerkin past the obviously ragged hole, and he could only remember sighing deeply at it as hands fell to the fabric sometime during the night.

Repairing it completely would be an utter bastard of a job, and he was sorely tempted to give up some of his finest cinnamon sticks for the sprites to do his work for him. They were cheap labour, and he certainly had an abundance of the stuff littered about his home for quick payment.

Looking at the man in the morning light, that temptation rose anew, and he idly tapped a finger upon his hip.

Qrow was easily persuadable.

“... better,” came the easy reply, and the man  _ did _ reach up to idly brush fingers along bandages. It felt strange underneath. No sign of stitches nor pressure under his touch. Too neat and smooth for such a wound, and it still mystified him. “... certainly not as warm as yesterday.”

Those green eyes flicked down to where hands sat upon the healer's hips, something tugging at the back of his memory, like a whisper upon the back of his neck. It came gently to him, and he glanced to the mug at his side, collecting it by way of simple distraction as the quiet shade of regret passed across him.

“... for what it's worth, I'm... sorry I couldn't tell you sooner.”

The witch blinked back at the man, not quite following his words as he straightened lightly. He watched as the man gathered fingers about his mug once more, taking a short draught from it and looking for all the world like he was vaguely uncomfortable to have even mentioned it as he avoided Qrow's eyes entirely.

What in heaven's name was he sorry-

The realisation fell about him like a gentle drizzle of rain upon the earth, delicately settling upon his shoulders as they loosened. Instinctively, he felt his fingers curl lightly where they sat, and he had to wonder just what kind of human he'd stumbled upon in the forest that day.

Surely he  _ knew _ what Qrow was. There was no chance he didn't.

Yet... what did this stranger have to gain by thanking him? Apologising to him in almost the same breath? It wasn't something their kind  _ did _ to Qrow's own, and it sat heavy in his stomach. No, there was something different about this one, and it waited, ripe and full alongside the other questions that burned upon his tongue; ready to be plucked.

More questions with no answers...

He drew his still-healing hand to the front of his vest, letting fingers curl light against a palm in vague memory. He'd only held the arrowhead for a second, yet it still bit deep into his skin, vicious as it attempted to scour through him with the same poison that had ravaged the stranger's entire body for hours.

Even without magic coursing through his veins at the time, it was still enough to sear the stranger upon contact, and Qrow idly brought his other hand alongside his marred one; cupping gently and thumb stroking the burn that was barely visible, as his eyes followed the vague movement.

The thoughts circled in the back of his mind, a looming vulture on high, as he found everything this stranger had brought him vying for attention. So many questions he wanted to ask him, and he told himself firmly that all he had to do was display a little patience.

He'd find his answers to them eventually, he knew. He had no doubts about it.

Red eyes narrowed faintly. A thumb pressed light into a fading mark.

He  _ knew _ he would.

“Don't worry about it,” he murmured, dropping hands to his sides and meeting that bright seafoam gaze from atop a mug as he leant back onto the tree trunk that helped support part of the porch. The faint brush of a sardonic smile wanted to brush across his lips, and he nearly gave in to the casual one-shouldered shrug. Nearly, but he bit it back.

“It barely touched me, and it's been steadily healing with beeswax salve and aloe over the last few days.”

The mug faltered in a hand, and the stranger lowered it from his lips. Brunet brows pinched at the words, and the man felt his breath still in his lungs.

“... what?”

The whisper slipped from him like a sigh, and surely he'd heard that wrong. Surely he hadn't...

Qrow paused at the sudden interest, and almost self-consciously, he tucked his hand into a pocket, straightening a little and turning his gaze away with a trace of a sigh. Clearly this one still had a few things to learn about basic remedies  _ despite  _ being someone who had seen his fair share of combat.

“Beeswax is good for a burn, and aloe is just as soothing if it's-”

“... no, not... not that,” the gentle interruption came, and the witch fell silent at the man's softly incredulous tone. He drew the breath across his tongue, holding it steady as he placed his mug to the side once more, fingers still clutching firm about the ceramic.

“... a few...  _ days _ ...”

Qrow realised the tack of his words, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, offering the man little more than a brief nod. It wasn't all that surprising to him; he'd seen it happen often in the past that time was a fickle mistress to those affected by fever and poison. It burned at the mind, stripped their victims of all thought, and left them a mess of scattered confusion afterwards.

This human was clearly no exception to the rule, no matter how fortunate he'd been.

Those green eyes finally tore themselves away, and his gaze lowered to the floorboards of the porch; something heavy wheeling in the depths of his mind.

“... no one's... come to look for me?” he breathed, somehow already knowing the response. This healer certainly seemed to know how to look after himself, and knew the taste of battle. His words and reactions in the face of his presence had been testament enough of that. How he chose to defend himself, yet another.

But he stood relaxed. At ease in gentle conversation with him. As if nothing had disturbed the peace that surrounded the two of them in this little grove.

The man swallowed lightly.

Small miracles, then.

Qrow shifted his weight a little against the trunk, arms folding across his chest and he did give in to the vague one-shouldered shrug as he watched the man pace himself through his silence.

“Nothing, and no one,” he answered simply.

Those green eyes narrowed faintly, brow pinching as the stranger inclined his head, however faint, and his gaze bore straight through Qrow. The strength of those sharp eyes would've been enough to unnerve him under normal circumstances, but coming from a man who had delicately parted ways with an early death and still looked as such, it was barely enough to ruffle him.

“... you're sure though?” that voice gently pressed. The witch could only raise a brow at the man and his quiet insistence; those green eyes refusing to budge from his own. There was a tale in those eyes, and a story held tight upon his tongue. And the stranger knew that by saying so little, he'd already said too much.

There was relief in the man's question, but of the sour kind.

Qrow could only hope to glean the truth from what he had seen, and now heard, and he knew that the seedling of an answer he'd stumbled across could only lead to a veritable orchard of further questions. Yet he knew now, without a doubt, that this stranger was known to his pursuers as more than just simple prey. More than a simple hunt.

No, there was a reason for his insistence, and it brushed fingertips across Qrow's curiosity. Simply another mystery to add to his questions, it would seem, but after a lifetime of seeking his own answers, he knew well how to be patient.

He knew intimately when to stay his tongue and still his hand.

The stranger released the quiet breath that had stilled in his chest, knowing his words had been caught and cursing himself for such a simple slip, and his gaze flicked to where a burn lay upon skin.

“... I don't... you've already done enough for me,” he murmured instead. Letting his words fall elsewhere. Somewhere safer. And he knew he was right; this healer had already done so much for him. It wasn't every day he had someone bring him back from something that nearly cost him so dearly, and he was damn thankful the healer had found him when he did.

His fingers curled further about the mug, bringing the cooling tea to his lips. He disliked the idea of owing anyone; any debts were to be repaid as soon as possible. It was simply how he'd always lived his life, and how he would forever do so. But with the state he was in, and with how long it was likely to take him to recover, he knew there would be no leaving the watch of this healer anytime soon.

So he would offer him what he could, in the time it would take him to regain his lost strength. He would help where he was able, and give simple assistance when his body was capable. Simple things. He could manage simple things, and he was sure the healer would appreciate the gesture of such, even if mere  _ words  _ of thanks had already surprised him.

Sweetness lingered on his tongue, and he swallowed it down, eyes tracing the surface of the liquid as he sat it upon the bench once more.

Yet he knew what he owed the healer was no mere favour. It would take more than a few simple repayments of his time or his coin or his abilities to do so.

No... he knew a life debt when he saw one.

Green eyes narrowed faintly, lost in the colour of his tea as a thumb idly traced the glaze.

Time would tell if  _ this  _ one would would be worth it in the end.

“... I... should be the one helping you.”

The soft snort that met his gentle words was enough to pull him from his reverie, and he glanced up in time to catch the utterly derisive eye-roll from the healer. He would've almost felt insulted if it weren't for the faint spread of an easy smile across that expression as those red eyes returned to him.

He... should've felt insulted that his words were so easily pushed aside, but he couldn't find it within himself to feel anything like that at all.

Not when that smile was enough to disarm him entirely.

“You'll find I'm pretty good at helping myself,” Qrow told him languidly. In a show of utter cheek, the healer reached for his dagger, tossing it easily into the air and snatching it cleanly as it spun swiftly before him. Then once more, in a reverse direction, eyes easily following the movement of the blade; his only movement aside from the easy and guided flicks of a hand.

Something as simple as child's play for anyone, really, but the stranger could see the ease of how this man handled a blade. There was no hesitation in his movements; a languid nature to his fingers.

Loose, but controlled.

Where the healer's kind would usually only carry a blade out of necessity when travelling, this one had taken it and honed it to a fine art. It was easy for green eyes to see that years of skill had been poured into what could be dumbed down into a simple act of showing off to the untrained eye. Yet this was anything but.

Fingers still twirled the short blade, its weight perfectly guided and artfully used to keep it aloft as if it were a mere toy.

This healer was something else, alright.

The stranger felt his surprise soften, and the whisper of a smile crossed his own lips as a dagger was resheathed, cleanly sliding back whence it came. Well. He was content to be put smartly in his place. He knew what dedicated skill looked like, and he'd seen his fair share of miserable comparisons in the past.

This one...  _ might  _ be worth it in the end.

Fingers drew away from the edge of a mug, and extended his hand out to the healer. It was with a faint twinge of disappointment that the man's smile seemed to falter at the gesture, and red eyes were left blinking at the offered hand, as if expecting something else entirely.

“... Clover.”

Red eyes ducked sharply back to his, and there was something guarded in their depths for a beat of time. A flicker of something there and gone again, lingering in the shadow, as a brow furrowed. A strange response to a simple handshake, really, the man thought.

“Your... name?” came the hesitant question.

Not quite the reaction he'd been wagering on.

“... yes?”

The hand still held aloft between them, and Qrow raised one of those brows.

“Your  _ real  _ name?” It was almost incredulous, and the man – Clover – couldn't quite see what this healer was struggling to grasp. It was his own turn to allow the crease to appear on his brow, though certainly more confused in appearance than his counterpart.

“... well, yes.”

Silence blanketed about their feet, and distant birdsong the only measure of sound in the air as red eyes sought to analyse what exactly it was he was being told.

“You're far too trusting for your own good,” came the simple response after a heartbeat, and it was Qrow's turn to hear the soft snort in sharp reply to his words. There was an ease to the man's expression, something soft and unguarded as that whisper of a smile graced his lips once more. But as those brilliant green eyes continued to stare further into his own, Qrow saw through to what the man was actually saying between them.

Something far more dangerous than mere words.

“... oh, I trust easily,” came the simple breath. “... I just don't forgive as such.”

No, what Clover offered him was a promise.

And as easy as that, the reverie of the healer shattered as mirth found itself a home in his chest. It circled and chased its tail behind his sternum, and the soft beginnings of a gentle laugh made itself known to the world. A deep, rich sound that Clover found himself enjoying as the healer allowed himself to take delicate amusement from the words.

Well.

He was glad to have brought more than a mere smile to the man's face.

Clover found his hand firmly grasped, the healer's grip surprisingly strong in his own, and those red eyes, still shining with not-so-hidden enjoyment, met his.

“Qrow.”

Perhaps, came the stray thought to the witch's mind. Perhaps he really was going to enjoy this man's sense of humour after all. Perhaps they had more in common than either of them knew.

Trust was a tenuous thing, easily fractured and willingly dashed to the stony ground like a vase of the finest spun glass. And Qrow had been bitten more than once in his lifetime.

It simply took him time to learn how to sharpen his own teeth.

The hand within his own tightened gently, and it brought him back to brilliantly green eyes. Clover cleared his throat softly, already feeling somewhat better for the sweetness of the tea upon it.

“Qrow, then,” he repeated, liking the sharpness of the sound along his tongue, and he took in a short breath. “Good to meet you.”

The witch could only allow the faint smile to cross his expression, and red eyes flicked carefully between the man's. He was certainly an odd one, and he certainly had his own deep secrets, from the sounds of things.

As did they all, came the delicate whisper in the back of his mind.

“Likewise...” he breathed gently, finding himself caught in soft shades of green as fingers gave a faintly imperceptible squeeze.

Clover found strength in the healer's hand, and some part of his memories whispered of a palm pressed harsh to his shoulder. Tight, and bidding his lifeblood to stay. Some distant brush of smoke to his senses spoke to him of fire in his veins and of a light so bright it seared away what was left.

And all of it sourced from the very man within his grasp.

Those green eyes blinked lightly, the breeze catching his thoughts and brushing them delicately aside as he glanced down at hands still joined. His mind was still a haze from that first meeting; with both pain and poison coursing through his body, surely he'd simply imagined the intense burning. The lights. The acrid taste of smoke in his lungs.

Salves stung and potions were made to hurt before they healed, that much was always true, and Qrow was a skilful healer to have brought him back from the brink as he did. There were shadows left in his mind from fever dreams and snatches of delirium that made seeking the truth a fool's errand, but he could tell there was truth to the man that stood before him.

Part of him already knew that he could count on this healer to fill in what blanks had slithered about his mind, slipping deep into his dreams and sprinkling falsity in their wake.

There was an honesty behind those startlingly clear red eyes, and he met them once more, allowing fingers to trail free from a firm grasp.

He trusted easily. The lie certainly hadn't touched his tongue when he spoke those words. And there was something about Qrow's presence that settled almost comfortably about him. A warmth that soothed, rather than the scalding fire that burned at his memories.

Something that allowed him to gently extend his aid to a complete stranger, welcoming him into his home, and bestowing upon him rich laughter, where Clover could only offer simple thanks and unhurried pauses in return. Something he knew spoke delicate volumes to this healer and his sharp gaze.

No, he trusted easily, but the truth always  _ was  _ a double-edged sword to the brunet, and he knew there were some parts of himself he could never trust others with again.

As did they all, indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Glossary**
> 
> Marigold - has antiseptic, anti-fungal, antidepressant and anti-inflammatory properties, depending on its preparation.
> 
> Fenugreek - ground seeds are used to give a maple-like flavouring to confectionary.
> 
> Beeswax salve - a salve is a thick lotion that heals and moisturises the skin. Using beeswax gives it natural soothing and anti-inflammatory properties.
> 
> Aloe vera - effective in healing first- to second-degree burns, and commonly employed on sunburns. Anti-inflammatory, promotes circulation, and inhibits the growth of bacteria.


End file.
